


I Dreamt We Spoke Again

by notasadwriter



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Five-centric, Gen, LMAO, literally it's like all his thoughts, very small amount of dialogue at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-24 15:19:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18574159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notasadwriter/pseuds/notasadwriter
Summary: "I'm sorry I left without saying goodbye"~She had caught his eye, shaking her head.Please don't, let it go.He looked at her, he looked at Reginald. He ran. And he didn't look back.I'll be back,he thought.He didn't come back. And he never got to explain, never got to see them or speak to them again.I didn't even get to say goodbye.~"I'm sorry I left without saying goodbye"





	I Dreamt We Spoke Again

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so basically this entire thing revolves around this one line that Five said in Episode 2 that really stuck with me. I then proceeded to spiral into a nearly 2000 word inner-thoughts study of Five and what I think he really meant when he said this to Vanya (totally unprompted btw just saying). 
> 
> This is my first fic tho so plz feel free to drop any constructive criticism, and I live for validation so yk what to do.
> 
> (Title is from the song by Death Cab for Cutie)

 He never really thought this through. Of course, he thought about the logistics of it. He agonized over equations and probabilities until he was sure his brain cells had greyed and withered. He considered every thread in the timeline, every decision and every angle of any situation to find the perfect time to jump back home to. Argued with himself about every choice he could make. He learned to bend backwards and around the Commission without breaking himself and everything he’s worked towards for the last forty years.  
 Anyone who thinks he hasn’t thought about it is a moron--and Five wouldn’t hesitate to tell them so--because all he’s done is think about coming back. But he never got past that; coming back. Now he’s back, he’s _back_ , and his family is grown, standing there just staring at him in their courtyard. But before he can get too caught up in memories long forgotten to make space for getting back to the birthplace of those memories, they’re speaking, demanding answers and he realizes he has no idea what to do next. He never let his thoughts or even dreams get this far, to _being_ back. And after years alone, his only true human interaction being the breathing targets he was assigned

> _~sometimes in his dreams they have bullseyes on their foreheads and over their sternum and sometimes it’s just bullet holes and he can’t decide which is worse but they’re always red and there’s always blood so much blood all there is is blood~_

 He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do now. How is he supposed to talk to them, to real live people? 

> _~Dolores was never as unpredictable and never made him feel lonely but when he looks at all of them just standing there all he sees is the family and the childhood he missed and suddenly he feels so alone~_

 Five’s never felt more frustrated because here he is traveling all the way across the damn universe and he has nothing to say. His mind is still racing with the looming threat of the Apocalypse and he lets the rush of it guide him; shoving away his childish worries. There’s no time to waste searching for words to give to people who might not even be alive in a week. 

> _~he wouldn’t find the right ones by then anyways~_

 And of course they don’t understand because when have they ever. He doesn’t have time to explain and even if he did he can’t.  
 “It’s been seventeen years.”  
_I know,_ he wants to say. _I know and I’m sorry, I left you alone for too long and I didn’t mean to because it left me alone too and it was for so much longer. I didn’t mean to stay so long I didn’t even mean to stay at all._  
 He scoffs, “It’s been a lot longer than that.” Five can tell immediately it was the wrong answer and he curses his inability to just _talk_ to them. But he goes for kind words and he chokes on them like ash in his throat and he vomits out coarseness instead. 

__

> _~sometimes instead of tasting ash he’ll see their bodies again and with all his thinking and planning he never prepared himself for seeing them like this again but alive and it’s hard not to replace their gaping faces in the kitchen with bloody corpses. He decides to blame his inability to communicate on these sensations and ignore the fact that his throat can’t be tight from ash because he’s home and there’s a familiar wetness to his eyes at this tightness like there never was with the ash and smoke~_  
> 

 So he’s running off again because that’s what he does best. He is quick and he is witty and he can outsmart whoever the Commission wants to throw at him. He snarls and taunts because he is Number Five and weapons come faster than words. He is a gazelle outrunning the cheetahs and this fight, this adrenaline is what he knows.

> _~he chooses not to dwell on the fact that he first feels comfortable in his skin here when he’s sauntering away from dozens of bodies, blood on his clothes~_

 Five’s not sure what it is that brings him to Vanya’s except for maybe the desire to try again. When he won’t be overwhelmed

> _~he never found her body and at first it gave him hope that he wouldn’t be alone. All he found was the message the world sent him that hope was pointless when all the variables lead to only one answer. But at least now he won’t see it in her face and in her eyes each time he looks at her~_

 Except it still doesn’t work, she doesn’t believe him and he’s screwed it up again and he doesn’t know how to explain it to her. He can’t talk to her without digging up years of isolation he’s pushed down and all those memories

> _~he screamed for them for hours and he thinks now maybe that those were words wasted and he has none left for them now that he’s made it~_

 and he refuses to split a scar like that. Refuses to bare his soul so he bares his teeth and brings up edges sharp like Diego’s knives and remarks that cut like them too. Five is nothing if not precise, and he’s already spent too much time here trying at a foolish endeavor that brings him no closer to saving the world.  
  _Of course I tried to come back to my family. I care about you all and all I wanted was to see you again. I would’ve gone back and never time traveled again no matter how badly I wanted to if it meant I could’ve stayed._  
 He runs again.  
 He learns his vocabulary is simply selective because he does not stumble once when taking what he needs. (His words always trip around the others thought whenever he means to say how he truly feels) But Vanya finds him and he can feel the words sticking to his mouth like old peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches.

> _~he tastes ash and dirt, and bugs have become a delicacy now because they mean sustenance. Little kids would eat them for fun but now it’s how he lives and he’s forgotten what Mom’s breakfast tasted like~_

  “I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye”  
_Please,_ he thinks. _Please understand. I’m sorry I left. I didn’t mean to. I thought I could come back, I thought I knew what I was doing. You have to believe me. If I knew that was the last time I got to see you I would’ve said goodbye. I would’ve smiled, I would’ve even hugged you. I didn’t mean to go, I promise. I’m sorry._  
 But he can’t say it and she can’t read minds so she doesn’t make the connection. Instead she apologizes for last night and he lets her. He says whatever lie will get rid of her (because that’s easier than the truth right now) even though he hates himself for it. But he’s too far in now and he’s dug a hole for himself like he dug their graves

> _~it took so long and the rubble was everywhere and so heavy. His fingertips were bleeding and his body shook and he was so tired if he could just lay down, just for a moment, and really that grave looked so comfortable~_

  He doesn’t stop running. Sometimes Five feels like he’s still just a scared thirteen year old kid running from a man who could never love them. But that man’s gone and he’ll be damned if he lets Reginald’s legacy of cages live on.

> _~the Handler had her own cage for him; it came in the form of a job with a gun, the key a contract that she kept clenched in her perfectly polished nails. He still feels them scraping along his cheek, her smile just as sharp and twice as deadly and she’s grinning at him as she holds his family’s life in her power and she’s the kind of beauty that’s deceiving and dangerous, lethal and to her he’s just a bug under a microscope~_

  They let Vanya out. Allison still can’t speak and neither can he, but she’s still talking.  
 He’s still running.  
 He’s tired and he wants to stop. Wants his mouth to run for a change like Klaus but it all gets stuck in that brain of his that’s supposed to be so smart. They tiptoe around him and he stomps around them. He can’t tell them what he’s thinking or feeling and he hates it. Seventeen years is too long, he decides, because Allison’s _looks_ are understood but his riddled sentences are not.  
 Five wants to get better.  
 Claire visits, after months of therapy and court sessions and arguments. He wants to run again because how can he talk to a child (his _niece_ and isn’t that a strange concept) when he can’t even talk to his grown siblings?  
 He stays for her.  
 Turns out not talking isn’t a problem, Claire does all the talking for everyone and then some. It should annoy him; he has no desire to listen to her ramble about space and dinosaurs and dresses. It should irritate him, make him scramble for the bar. He sits and listens.  
 Later, she finally stops long enough to shove food in her mouth. Everyone is eating silently, contently. It’s not long before Claire breaks the peace.  
 “Hey Uncle Five, do you love your family?”  
 The table freezes. He forgets who he’s talking to at first.  
 “Excuse me?”  
 She’s unperturbed. “Mom said not to get upset if you seemed like you didn’t like me. Because you act like that with everyone,-”  
 Allison cuts in on her notepad, embarrassed. “ **Claire!** ”  
 “-but you weren’t mean or anything. Do you just secretly not like me?”  
 He pauses, processing this new information. “No Claire, you’re family, I don’t secretly dislike you.”  
  _I don’t secretly dislike any of you. Don’t they get it? I-_  
 “So you love us all then? Because we’re family?”  
 No one breathes, wide eyes watching Five in fascination and apprehension.  
 He pauses, he can do this, he won’t screw this up, not now, not after everything they’ve gone through.  
 “Of course I do.”  
  _Of course I love you._  
 And for once, they understand. The words do not dribble from his mouth like blood. They do not tangle within his sibling’s ears like the strings of time so delicately woven together. His sentence cuts through the decades of pain, confusion, and resentment that stretch across the kitchen table and reach his living, breathing, _family_. There is no ash, no choking.  
 It’s not much, but it’s a start.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, personally I always felt like Five was saying more than he really did. Like, the way he says this, it just screamed to me that he wasn't apologizing for leaving her apartment but something bigger. He cares, I mean he went through hell for his family, I know he loves them and it's clear he wanted nothing but to get back to them. 
> 
> But this fic definitely got away from me and I'm proud of it, and I'd love to write more. So if you have anything you'd love me to write go ahead and leave suggestions, my brain produces exactly one (1) original and creative idea every six months.
> 
> ALSO!! A **huge** shoutout to the lovely [just_a_sunflower_girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_a_sunflower_girl) who was kind enough to beta this fic for me. Their writing is _amazing_ and I _**highly**_ recommend you guys check it out. (It's so good that I stalked them in order to get them to read my work lmao)


End file.
